


Story of a Wishing Well

by ImaShayne



Series: Eventually I'll figure out the names for these series [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Galtean AU, M/M, Prince Keith, Wartime, Wartime Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29195190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaShayne/pseuds/ImaShayne
Summary: War hangs over Altea, though their enemies may be closer than previous thought. Lance, as Coran's apprentice, is allowed to sit in at the peace summit, where dignitaries from around the universe- galaxies both near and far flung- will gather and talk. His own prejudices from past trauma's hold Lance back from trusting the Galran nobility that have arrived. He's never been more nervous about anything in his whole life. At least he's made a few friends, Hunk and Pidge, who are in a similar position as he; learning as they all go. Though when he meets a certain Galran prince- and IMMEDIATELY makes an ass of himself- the stakes for Lance are suddenly and irrevocably intensified.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: Eventually I'll figure out the names for these series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143467
Kudos: 13





	Story of a Wishing Well

Silver like moonlight hung as a circlet over sepia hair. Lance resisted the urge to scratch his head, which he knew would ruin this too regal appearance. Cautiously he reached up, pulling in a steadying breath as an attempt to halt the nervous shaking of his olive-skinned hand before he readjusted the band just so. The argent links shifted, glinting in the soft blue ambience like liquid. At the end of the two longest couplings, framing his tawny face, hung simple stones, cut and formed into almost perfect spheres. A white as pure as the dust upon one of the larger Altean moons. More of the sterling chains created a mandala like pattern as they looped from the lobe of his left ear to a cuff right before the very tip of the long appendage. The other side sported similar trinkets, an asymmetrical compliment to each other. They trembled with each small anxious movement he made as he studied himself.

Lance tugged the high collar of the periwinkle blue shrug he’d just adorned as the final touch. Shrugging against the stiff confines, he leaned in closer to the full body mirror he stood before. Double hued eyes of cyan and indigo flitted across his features within the reflection. Crosswise his bronzed cheeks freckles like stars delicately dusted, glittering as he tilted his face this way and that. The deep violet within his angular markings right beneath his sparkling gaze set off the different shades that played inside his irises.

This was by far the fanciest Lance had ever dressed up. Including the Altean academy prom! He dropped his gaze to take in the rest of his ensemble. It was fairly similar to his usual uniform of varying blues and whites, save for the golden embroidered accents. The soft fabric was tight against him, outlining the man’s slim but muscled form perfectly. It was the first time he’d ever had anything tailored to fit.

Lance felt like royalty, which, of course was totally the point, since all of these uniformed marks of status were to set him apart with just a mere glance as one of the Altean entourage, but not of the planet’s imperial family.

Once more he shifted, unable to keep still, reaching for the new and rather hefty, gilded belt on his hips. It was a rare metal. Not even found on the surface of the planet itself, but mined from one of the outer rings. Lance shivered, imagining that he could almost feel the cold of space beneath his fingertips as he traced the molded embellishments.

Instead of having any sort of calming effect upon the young man, his thorough inspection had ratcheted up the worry that knotted in his chest. When his eyes flicked back up to meet with his reflection, he noticed the way sweat gleamed across his high cheekbones and sharp jawline. That at least he could take care of. Lance pulled a square of linen from his back pocket, trying to ignore the way his hands shook as he dabbed at his forehead, movement changing as he pressed his palms up against his sockets. In the sudden darkness he became painfully aware of just how hard and fast his heart was beating. How much each exhale shuddered. How every inhale shallowed out before filling him. Lance continued to mop at his face for perhaps longer than necessary, wondering how long he could stay here, hiding in the dark behind his lids. The cloth was cool against his heated flesh as he pressed it up tightly against his lids.

“if you have a headache my boy may I offer you an infusion of bilab tincture?”

The scream didn’t have any time to build within Lance as his mentor’s voice sounded right next to his ear, so only a muffled squawk escaped from him. He spun in place, the weight of the chains felt strange as they swung with the sudden movement.

“Holy quiznak, Coran!” The name was somehow pitched higher than the startled noise from just ticks ago. Lance cleared his throat, crossing his arms and attempting, to no avail, to look very serious. “How in the world are you so quiet?” He asked, actually somewhat glad that his heart had this excuse to be thumping so crazily against his ribcage.

Lance hadn’t even heard the whoosh of the door as it opened, nor the older man’s footsteps. Maybe if he’d actually been paying attention he might have seen a telltale movement within the bluish glass of the mirror.

The antechamber they stood in was a vast assortment of all things festive. It was where all of the castles staff kept their uniforms, where all feast decorations waited to be used. Where the banners and table clothes and streamers from a dozen separate holidays slept. Where the furniture of bygone eras had come to rest, forgotten. An assortment of chaos that never grew too boring to look at. Which was why Lance enjoyed being here so much. When he was feeling low there was something easily found between these four walls that would warm him, remind him of a time past. The nostalgia fought against his anxiety usually…. Save for today.

“Lance, look at me.” The cheerful tone that was usually present in Coran’s voice was absent the second time he spoke. Shock, more than anything else, drew the younger man’s gaze to meet with Coran’s. Irises that were a color so similar to his own stared back at him, a singular slate hue. Usually a playful spark danced in their depths, but now they held a solid tone as his eyes took in Lance.

“You look positively smashing. You’re going to do so well once all of the dignitaries arrive.”

Coran had done exactly what he’d done time and time again for Lance; cutting straight to the core of his worries.

Not that this time around it was too hard to guess what that was.

Lance brought his shoulders up and straightened his back as he held Coran’s gaze, almost defiantly. But relatively instantly crumpled beneath the intense and knowing stare.

“How do you know though?” The words were barely above a whisper. Lance hated how small he sounded. It was always scary when he realized how close to the surface that fearful child he used to be was to his adult self. He hated these sort of reminders.

Coran took a deep breath in, mustache fluttering with the exhale and hiding his small smile. Lance expected the solemn tone to continue. It seemed the sort of situation that called for it after all.

“Well, because you’ve got a great teacher of course!” He winked at Lance, placing his hand right beneath his own strong chin, thumb and forefinger held straight out while the rest of his digits remained curled. “And I’ve taught you everything I know!”

Lance couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head as he turned back to the mirror. His movement was halted when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“I’m not worried.” Lance’s eyes flickered to meet Coran’s. Pride radiated from him, even his mustache seemed to curl more with the emotion. “Your family would be so proud.”

For a brief moment the image of flames licking at the teal sky and heavy rolling smoke tinting the atmosphere a bruised byzantine filled Lance’s sight. Light from the second sun sifting through black soot, what had once been the agricultural hub of Altea; growing everything from sotir berries and entay roots, ears of uslaw and daakrell nuts, aflame in the dusk. Breathing in the dust of Atean bodies, their flesh burned off, blood boiled and bone reduced to nothing more than ash. The ghost of the stench, charcoal and blazes, still clung to the insides of his nose, the taste to his esophagus, and the echoes of screams resounded against his skull, as if trying to break free.

Even though Lance knew it was nothing more than a memory, the overwhelming grip of it held him fast. The sure knowledge of his impending dread remained the same as it had been in that moment. Just as sickeningly potent as that day.

The darker skinned boy slammed the door of those recollections in his mind before they could overtake him, and he rearranged his features into what he hoped was a convincing, hopeful smile.

“Do you think?” Lance asked, praying to the ancestors that Coran did not pick up on the tone of his despondence and disbelief he buried beneath his mask so desperately. He pushed forward to drown out any of the older Altean’s comments that could so easily cut to the quick of Lance’s truths. “I think they’d hold off until I help successfully divert this war.” This at least was an honest statement.

There were a few excruciating ticks in which Coran considered him, his regard intense and disarming. Lance had just begun to squirm when his elder nodded decisively.

The older Altean reached out and straightened the silver coronet that mirrored the one he wore. “You are ready Lance. And even if you do not believe that, I do for both of us. And I don’t want you worrying about it anymore. You’ll be spending most of your time simply observing after all.” Coran’s posture was so relaxed, with one arm resting, folded across his midsection in a lax manner while the other hand gestured mildly in time with his words.

He began to detail these very ‘simple’ do's and don'ts of the next couple of weeks- the duration of this intergalactic peace summit. He was supposed to stay as silent as he could unless asked a question directly, except if the questioner was a higher official than himself -which did mean basically everyone, save for the servers and cleaners. Of course, if he was commanded to speak, then he would really have no other choice but to do just that. So on the off chance that Lance must speak there was a helpful, albeit long list of subjects he could and could not talk about; the knowledge that was already public or that which was private.

Lance’s head was spinning.

It seemed to continue on and on indefinitely. And after some time Lance’s mind began to wander, as was prone to happen. In Coran’s calm yet animated manner of speaking, he could have been talking about how to gather skaultrite or the safest way in which to clip a blazool’s claws.

Lance began to worry his bottom lip while simultaneously running his thumb over the smoother skin of his aubergine Altean marks. These nervous idiosyncrasies were quiet, and tended to go unnoticed.

“What…” Lance’s voice was hoarse, but Coran’s mouth instantly snapped shut behind his bright orange mustache and his eyes refocused on his apprentice.

The question died still trapped behind his lips.

What if, despite everything they did, they could not stop this war?

Instead what came out of his mouth were facts that Coran already knew.

“There’s been so many… casualties.” The word death tasted bitter as it lay there unsaid upon his tongue, heavy and rotten. “Do you really think that-” Lance’s eyes flicked back and forth as if looking for the right phrasing. He didn’t want to say ‘we can reach a peace agreement’ quite so bluntly. “That it is…. Wise to invite the Galrans… or the druids?” He rushed to tag on the very last of that.

Coran’s brows drew together. “Lad, I know you have… mixed feelings in this regard-”

“No, I-”

The King’s advisor held his hand up and continued to talk as if he hadn’t been interrupted to begin with. Lance’s mouth still hung open, but he knew better than to try and push his denials again. “But during sensitive endeavors such as this conference it is best to remain as objective as possible. This war is avoidable because it’s not all Galrans. Since it’s just a small faction of zealots within their ranks that have managed to gain traction outside of their own solar system, we should be able to put an end to all of the tragedies. It’s true that they have some powerful supporters now, including ones from our very own Altea. They’ve never acted alone Lance.”

Lance knew this, his head dropped down in shame, fists clenching as that old smoldering anger fought to ignite and burn away all other emotions. He wanted to say more, but he knew it all came from a place inside him that was all rage and hate. The opposite of what Coran and his parents had taught him.

“Well this is a rather heavy atmosphere~” A beautiful voice cut into the room like a sword made out of starlight.

Lance straightened, self-consciously tugging on his ear, accidentally pulling the cuff from its place as he did so. Allura simply laughed and walked over to him, looking absolutely breathtaking in her own royal ensemble. Somehow even more resplendent than her usual noble self. Her long hair, regularly either worn as long curls which cascaded down her back, flowing naturally with her movements, or tied up tightly in a coifed bun atop her head like a crown all on its own. Now it was somehow a mixture of both, on each side of her head the top layer of her thick locks braided and twisted back into multiple intricate knots, growing in size until, at the crown, a chignon of porcelain tresses. A tiara of dazzling golden rays intersected within a crescent of silver, around which pearls from the Uzevran sea hugged. Down from this her waves fell, elaborate and bejeweled plaits scattered amongst the alabaster coils. To accompany the diadem that normally adorned her forehead were looped chains of hefty gilt. Her bright earrings were replaced by ornate gold loops and gems. The stones encased were small balmera crystals.

Somehow all of this finery paled in comparison to her livery. The dress was the likes of which Lance had rarely seen on the warrior princess. While being similar to the courtly get-up she wore on occasion within the throne room on the more official planet wide holidays. But the differences between those gowns and this one set it apart. There was no white to be seen within the rich fabrics, unlike his own uniform. The bottom most layer, clinging tightly to her form, was a vibrant cerise, and the center panel which streamed down with a weight all its own was a sheer navy blue. All of this was trimmed with a golden lace, which flared out in thick bodied ruffles at the bottom. Her shrug, while at first glance was shaped as Lance’s and Coran’s were, with the high stiff collar, glided into a cape of triptych mantles, shivering with each movement she made. Ombre from the lightest blush to the deepest orchid spread like living color. An iridescence that gave her an appearance of fluttering wings which hung down to her hips where a golden belt much like Lance’s own, yet with a more delicate air clung at an angle from.

On many occasions since Lance had moved into the castle, he’d been told that if he had the white hair of the royal family, the two of them could almost be siblings- which always stung at his heart as a painful reminder. However in this moment, as with every other, he didn’t see the resemblance. She was everything, strong and beautiful.

Lance couldn’t count how many times he had wished for Allura’s bright pink Altean markings to be a shade of blue instead. To match his eyes, or that his own were the same.

A flush filled Lance’s cheeks as the aroma of freshly gathered juniberry blooms wafted over him when the princess of Altea pushed onto her tiptoes. Her breath was like a soft feather against his cheek while she replaced the cuff over the rim of his ear.

An almost awkward silence stretched on for much too long in Lance’s opinion and he wondered quite how many ticks it could possibly take to replace the piece of heavy jewelry. Lance wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold his breath.

“Ow- hey!” Allura had pinched the metallic cylinder too hard over his overly sensitive ear, something that could have been construed as an accident, if not for the fact that her bright giggles filled the room as she danced away.

Lance had clamped his hand up over the tip of his ears where it throbbed for a tick before fading.

“Careful!” The princess laughed, “Unless you don’t mind me fixing it for you again!”

“Your Highness, what are you doing here?” Lance didn’t know how Coran managed to maintain such a level of professionalism, while still smiling so openly at the girl before him.

“Apparently lightening the mood, which tends to be what the two of you do! Why are you both so serious?” Allura’s hands were on her hips as she looked between them. Lance felt scolded and he couldn’t help it, some of the previous tension left his body though much still remained.

“How can you not be?”

A very unladylike snort escaped her and she waved her hand dismissively. Lance was forever thankful that he got to see this side of the publicly regal princess. “Once you’ve sat through one boring courtly procession, you have sat through them all.”

Lance, having been training within the royal court, did not agree, but he didn’t say that out loud.

“If you continue to make such a grave face, I will be forced to tickle you Lance.”

“Princess-” Coran interjected, much to the boy’s relief, “is there not someplace you have to be?”

“Yes! Here!”

It was Lance’s turn to laugh, cutting it off swiftly when he noticed that no one else in the room was.

Allura crossed her arms as Lance shifted his gaze swiftly between the princess and the advisor.

“Please elaborate your highness.” Coran’s voice never lost the chipper tone, though now it held an edge that Lance rarely heard. Seemed like he wasn’t the only one effected by the weight of what was about to take place; the first ever intergalactic planetary summit for peace, preluding what could possibly be the biggest war spanning across literal galaxies. 

If only Allura could grasp the same sense of urgency. Lance felt as if he could already hear her next words. ‘it’s a secret~’

But he was surprised, for her manner changed as if there were a switch inside her mind, from the playful sister figure to the stately sovereign that she was.

“I received Father’s permission to sit in on the talks.”

“Woah that’s great Allu-I mean Princess!” Lance knew how badly she’d wanted to be involved. The smile Lance leveled at her was genuine and she returned it in kind.

“If that’s the case than you must be here to talk to me.” Coran stated in a business like manner, clapping his gloved hands together, “Lance if you’ll excuse us I have quite a bit to catch her highness up on, and very little time. It should be only a few varga before all of the personages have arrived.”

Knowing when he was dismissed Lance bowed low and excused himself without a single tease shot at Allura or clever jibe at Coran. He had to be on his best behavior. For all intents and purposes the peace summit had begun.


End file.
